


The Adventures of A Very Spoiled Prince and the Reasonable Ship Captain Who is Just Tired of All of This

by laisserais



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Space, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 22:49:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5558513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laisserais/pseuds/laisserais
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jeff has precious little in this world. His tin can of a boat, a couple of loyal friends, and of course: the cause. He'd like to hold onto what he has, if it's all the same; he's worked hard for it, after all. But when an amnesiac stowaway is discovered in his cargo hold, Jeff realizes that his entire world is about to change. He just hopes it's for the better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Adventures of A Very Spoiled Prince and the Reasonable Ship Captain Who is Just Tired of All of This

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashtraythief](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashtraythief/gifts).



> A space pirates RPF AU SPN_J2_Xmas fic! Sorry this is late and only partially finished. :/ More to come soon, though. Merry Christmas?

* * *

They say that if you hang out in space long enough, sooner or later you'll run into some really weird shit.

Or anyway, that's what Jeff's always said. And he's run into his fair share, but this takes the cake.

No sooner had they left orbit than the alarm had gone off in the cargo hold. Cussing under his breath about lazy deckhands who don't know an anti-grav lock from their elbow, Jeff had locked in autopilot and gone to take a look. 

Lo and behold, he had a stowaway. Just like in those old-Earth children's books his mama used to read him. Only instead of being an adorable little orphan in need, Jeff's boat had a snarling, scratching, spitting little hooligan who tried to punch Jeff and run out of the cargo bay.

Jeff had collared him not ten meters from the door and wrestled him down to the floor. Being as he drives a modified light freighter outfitted more for ducking radar than for transporting criminals, Jeff’s ship was short a jail cell, and he'd therefore had to tie the kid to the railing using his own belt. 

Now they're both out of breath, one of them's bleeding from a cut on his jaw, and the other's doing his damnedest to break his own arms getting free.

"Now listen here," Jeff says, panting. "There’s no point in fighting. We just hit FTL; even if I wanted to turn you in, I couldn’t. Not without turning this boat around, and frankly, that’s just a whole lot of math I’m not willing to do.” Not to mention the prefect of that planet wouldn’t mind getting his hands on the contents of Jeff’s cargo hold, which Jeff has no intention of letting happen. 

“So. Looks like we’re stuck with each other until P-468X97 Prime. You gonna keep struggling, or can I let you go?”

The kid yanks on his arms one more time before the fight just seeps out of him and he slumps down. “No,” he says.

“Where’d you think you were even gonna go, anyhow? You do know how a spaceship works, right?”

The kid arches an eyebrow and stays silent. 

Jeff sighs. Approaches the kid gingerly; his jaw’s still smarting.

Once he’s free, the kid snatches his belt back and stands up, wrapping it around his waist. 

“You got a name?”

“Do you?”

“Yeah, but I asked you first.”

“What is this,” the kid says. “Primary school?”

“You tell me, you’re the one scrapping and fighting. Name’s Jeff. This here’s my boat you stowed away on. With whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?”

The kid looks him in the eye for the first time. Jeff’s struck by how beautiful he is when he’s not scowling. 

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know. Like you ain’t gonna tell me, or like you don’t have a name.”

“The second one.”

Jeff sucks his teeth. “Well, that’s a problem. So’s what we’re gonna do with you, but one thing at a time. Gotta call you something. You got any preference, or can I just go ahead and pull something out of the air?”

The kid looks around. Behind Jeff is a stack of crates, destined originally for central imperial supply, now kindly liberated and en route to aid workers on one of the worst of the planets impacted by the inhumane laws newly enacted by His Royal Majesty, the Crown Prince of the Imperial Realm. The kid’s eyes skate across them, along the floor, and up the far wall. He turns back to Jeff and says, “Call me Jensen.”

“Jensen.” Jeff’s mouth twitches. Well, far as pulling something out of thin air goes, could be worse. ‘Jensen’ is the brand name of the energy bars in half the crates in the hold, and it’s spray painted across each one in wide black letters. “Well, pleased to meet you, I guess. Come on up to the bridge, we’ll get your hands seen to.” Along with his jaw, which Jeff swears might be dislocated. ‘Jensen’ has a mean right hook.

*

“Good job on checking in the cargo, Jared,” Jeff says. They’ve made it up to the bridge, and as Jeff walks in, Jared and Sam both swing around to look at him. Both of their eyes get big, but only Sam gasps, covers her mouth, and goes pale.

“By all the stars in Orion’s belt,” she says.

“Who’re you?” Jared says at the same time.

“This here’s Jensen,” Jeff indicates him as he takes the captain’s chair. “He decided to invite himself along for the ride to P-468X97 Prime.” Jeff gives Jared a meaningful look, and is distracted from the controls by Sam’s reaction. She’s still standing stock still in front of the nav panel. “Sam?”

Sam shakes herself and jerks her head toward the door. Jeff follows her off the bridge. 

When they’re alone, Sam whisper-yells, “Do you know who that is? Do you have any idea of the sort of trouble you just dropped us in?”

“What? Who? _I didn’t_. Sam, what are you talking about?”

“That,” she points back at the door. “Is the goddamned Crown Prince you just waltzed onto my bridge with, Jeffrey Dean Morgan.”

“Okay, first of all, it’s my bridge.” He blinks. “Wait a sec. The Crown Prince of what?”

She cocks her head to the side in that annoying habit she has whenever she thinks he’s said something dumb. Which, if you ask Jeff, she does far more often than is warranted. 

“ _The_ Crown Prince. Haven’t you ever looked at the news?”

“Little busy running contraband across the galaxy. Besides, it’s not like they plaster his face all over everything... Do they?” 

Sam sighs. 

“Well anyway, he doesn’t seem to know he’s the Crown Prince, so how about we just keep this little secret between ourselves for a while, all right?”

“He what?” The little vein in Sam’s forehead is throbbing. Jeff feels kind of bad about it, but at least this time it’s not his fault.

“Claims he doesn’t know who he is. Just named himself after an energy bar; I’m inclined to believe him.”

“I swear on Andromeda’s dragon, Jeff, you are going to wear my patience right through one of these days.”

“Yeah, probably so,” Jeff smirks. “Come on, let’s hear the kid’s story. Then we can decide what to do with him.”

She rolls her eyes, but follows Jeff back inside, where Jared’s pointing out the various features on the engineering console. “Hey,” he says, smiling. “Jensen says he knows about FTL drives. Sure could use a hand down in the engine room.”

“He does, does he?” Jeff takes his seat and scans the output on his console. “Kid, you don’t know your own name, but you know about engineering?”

Jensen shrugs. “Guess so.”

“Jared, I’m not in the habit of handing out jobs to stowaways.”

“Sure you are,” Jared says. He points at himself and then Sam. “How else would you have ended up with us? Not like you took an ad out or anything.”

Perseus grant him patience. Jeff takes a deep breath, punches a couple of buttons on his console. Says, “And for that miracle I am grateful everyday. Be that as it may, before we go around feeding the strays, I think it’s time we hear Jensen’s story. Jensen?”

The kid shifts from one foot to the other. Sam’s hanging back and looking wary. Jeff indicates with his eyebrows that she should go sit down at ops. She squints at him. He juts his chin at the ops panel. She shrugs, shakes her head, and Jeff sighs. “Sam, why don’t you take over ops, and have Jared take nav. Jensen, have a seat.” That’ll get her closer to the kid. Jeff’s betting on her soothing presence to ease the obvious tension their mysteriously impromptu discussion had ratcheted up in the kid.

“Son, why don’t you begin at the beginning?” Sam’s voice goes all soft, the way it does when she doesn’t want to spook an animal. Or she’s trying to get a compression coil for half price. Jensen seems to respond to it, easing back in his chair and nodding.

“Not much to tell, really. Woke up this morning tucked between the city wall and a fruit stand down in the market. I was hungry and, as you know, had no memory of who or where I was. I walked around some, trying to see if anything or anyone might help me remember.” He looks down at his own fidgeting hands and says, “I’m not proud of it, but I. I stole some bread. That’s when a couple of guards started shouting and chasing me. Figured they’d lock me up for sure, and then I’d never get a chance to figure out what’s going on. So I ran through the shipyard, hopped the first ship I saw gearing up to leave, and here I am.” Jensen looks up then, looks each of them in the eye as if he’s trying to be brave in the face of judgment.

Jared shifts on his chair, closes his mouth and looks at Jeff. Jeff looks over at Sam, who’s tilting her head at Jensen and puzzling. Finally, she says, “Do you think the guards were chasing you because they saw you steal something?”

Jensen shrugs. “What else could they want?”

Jeff clears his throat. “Good question. But how exactly did you figure that leaving the planet was going to help you figure out what happened to you?”

“Oh. There was this, in my pocket. Thought it would be a good place to start looking.” 

Jensen pulls out a much-crumpled pamphlet, smooths it a bit, and hands it to Jeff, who reads aloud. “Freedom for the Bellerophon 8.” He flips the pamphlet open and finds pretty much what he’d expected to find: a message from the resistance, a plea for solidarity, denouncing the draconian imperial laws that have suddenly made millions of citizens into criminals. There's a rally happening in two weeks' time down on Hera, which is only a stone's throw from where they're headed.

“Well now,” Sam says. “That there is mighty interesting literature.” She turns to Jeff and says, sotto voce, “You know what it ain’t, though? A coincidence.”

Jeff rubs his fingers over his chin. Thinks. Yeah, maybe it’s not. Maybe this entire thing is a setup of the highest order. 

On the other hand, who in their right mind would send the _Crown Prince himself_ into the field to do espionage? And with a cockamamie story like amnesia? No. Something here might be rotten, but Jeff doubts it’s Jensen’s story. 

“Jensen,” he says. “Do you know that it’s a crime to even have this pamphlet on your person? That you could get ten lashings and a month in jail, just for looking at it?”

Jensen pales. Sits back. “You’re not gonna. Are you gonna report me? Please don’t. I-- I don’t have any money, but I could-- I could--” His eyes are shifting around and Jeff can see from here that he’s starting to hyperventilate. 

“Hey, kid. Calm down. No one’s gonna report you. You’re safe. For now. Shh.” He reaches over and squeezes the kid’s shoulder, runs his hand down along his arm until he settles. 

Sam takes the pamphlet and reads it over. “So let me get this straight: you woke up. This morning. With this pamphlet in your pocket, but no ID, in the marketplace on Beaumonde? That’s all you know?”

“Aside from how to fix FTL drives,” Jeff puts in.

“And how to fix FTL drives,” Sam says, a smile in her voice.

“Yes, ma’am, that’s about the gist.”

“Well,” she says. Takes a deep breath and looks her question at Jeff, who shrugs, nods. Sam nods back. “Looks like we’re gonna have some company for a little while. Jensen, honey, you ought to have those hands seen to. And you,” she says, pointing at Jeff. “Go have Jim fix up that scratch.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jeff grins. Might be his boat in name, but it’s always been Sam’s show. He takes Jensen down to med bay and has Jim patch them both up. Jim evidently reads the news as well, because he gives Jeff a baffled look, then shuts his mouth and does his job. Jim’s a good man. Jeff sends him up to Sam for debrief and ushers Jensen into the mess.

“Any other skills come to mind for earning your keep, aside from engines?” He might not be a saboteur, but all the same, Jeff’s not an idiot; he’s not letting this kid anywhere near their FTL drive.

“Um,” Jensen says. Shrugs. “Maybe I can cook?”

“If you can, I might never let you off this ship again.” 

Jensen’s eyes go huge, and then he smiles, wide and happy. He laughs, and Jeff’s traitorous heart skips a beat. 

Yeah, that’s all he needs: one of the chief captains of the resistance fleet, crushing on the goddamned Crown Prince. It’s like a bad holo-novel. All they’re missing is the mustache-twirling villain and the maiden aunt, concerned for Jeff’s virtue. Maybe he can conscript Sam for the role. 

The thought makes him laugh, and then he’s smiling back at Jensen like the giant dope that he is. He coughs and scowls, turns toward the cooking apparatus and starts pointing out what’s dangerous. 

He steals a glance over at Jensen after a moment, and sees that the light has gone out of him again. He’s listening attentively, but he’s back to looking like he’d punch you soon as look at you. 

Well, good. That’s. Good. Better that way. 

“Mostly we just eat reconstituted protein isolate, but if you feel like trying your hand at it, knock yourself out.”

Jensen nods, keeps his eyes trained on the stove. 

Yeah, definitely better this way.

One thing’s for sure: gonna be a long week in hyperspace.


End file.
